Melindia
by Countess Millarca
Summary: It tastes sweet like honey - and once tasted...deadly. Told in 100 word drabbles.
1. Nihil

Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko.

Melindia means 'sweet like honey', and it was one of the epithets given to Persephone.

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><p><span>Epithumia<span>

It begins with innocence, the way all things are born. A petal of laughter, voice of the waking spring…pure want, pure skin, as long as it is untouched. Red the lips that wet the flesh of need, the pulse that beats beneath it. White the calves that twirl, shape of delicate curves; round and round.

_Come to me…be mine… _Mine_._

Over and over; he watches and burns but never touches. Will she remain the same if he strokes the softness, licks the heat? Will he want her the same if death blanches sensation and lust bleeds inside the sinless throat?


	2. Unus

Thanatos

The air is thick with the tang of blood and the decay of flesh, the earth glutted with poisons and viscera. Calm. Quiet. All that is left of Naraku is the purr of Bakusaiga as it gorges itself on the hanyō's remnants, the vestiges of his wish – old-festered desire, vileness of half-existence. If Sesshōmaru can pity Naraku, it is for the wretchedness of his wish, yearning to touch what must not be touched. But if he pities him then he must also pity himself – and that he cannot do.

"Where is Kagome-chan?"

The taijiya is worried, his half-brother grim-faced.

"Gone."


	3. Duo

Eros

Time glissades with languor, unfelt by his kind yet all the same moving. Sesshōmaru feels not the change of seasons but the rupture in their cycle. _Something_ is missing. Where is the spring? Where is her voice?

_Gone._

It is still beautiful, brilliant green, opening shapes and smells and sounds, slick, humming –

_Voiceless_.

Then it returns.

"It's been a long time, Sesshōmaru."

He swallows the sound. It glides down his throat like honey, seethes in a mass low in his abdomen, sweet and warm and raw…_too_ _sweet_. But merely that. It is not for his sake that she has returned.


	4. Tres

Pyre

"…is too young to be –"

She has been talking for _too_ long – too much, too passionate, as she always does when he visits. Perhaps it is the fact that he never tells her to stop, or perhaps she likes to hear the sound of her voice. It's full of _fire_ and _woman_; its taste lingers on his tongue long after he leaves. The more she gives, the more he laps –

"Sesshōmaru…" Her voice holds another kind of fire, less heat, less sizzling. "Is that acceptable?"

She is…flushed. He speaks above the reddened coals.

"Rin may stay if she wishes."


	5. Quattuor

Thumos

Eight springs have come and passed since he has taken Rin under his protection, four since he has last seen her. She is…_un_woman, curl of desire unripe on puckered lips.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Sesshōmaru-sama."

It is always gratitude, always smiles…with Rin. He has not visited for so long. But she is not the reason, not the one he –

"Sesshōmaru – you – _you_…how could you disappear just like that?"

_Ah_. _Fire_. _Woman_. Dark color smears along the lines of her cheekbones, always anger, always questions. But he has only one question he wants answered.

"Where is my brother?"


	6. Quinque

Ira

Rain is falling on his shoulders, sleet pelting his body. Mercilessly. It seeps through layers of skin, frost in the blood. It is winter-sleep, mountain-deep where he finds Inuyasha.

"Foolish brother."

His voice is colder than the chill; it pierces through the season's heart, sinks into bone and medulla.

"Sesshōmaru…" His name spills past cracked lips and frostbite. Inuyasha stares at him…as if the silhouette of his brother is but tangible memory. It lasts no longer than a fragment of a second. Coils of rage wrap around his vocal cords, growl of aggression.

"I'm not – I… You can't have her."


	7. Sex

Mercy

The air is still crisp, breath of low temperature, when Sesshōmaru seeks his brother for the second time. Pure ice of a winter morning. But it has already begun to melt and pool. Inuyasha is nothing more than distortions of hair and limbs and blood-red, down on his bended knees, anesthetized. It is merely an illusion. When his eyes lift slowly, lashes thick and crusted, it shatters with a pitiful sound.

"I loved her."

His voice echoes, hoarseness and demand…_begging_.

Sesshōmaru pities the name unspoken.

_Kikyō_.

"Foolish brother."

The blade slides easy and deep, slashes through tissue and muscle. Once.


	8. Septem

Bane

Tetsusaiga is the husk of his father's love. Rusted piece of metal, made brittle by death. His father has paid the price for that love. _Wrong_. Terribly. Wrong. It is poison for yōkai, slow-spread and insidious.

He gazes at the creature who nurtures such venom, more potent than his.

"That is…that sword –"

Her voice is thin metal, choking on the ice that killed Tetsusaiga.

"It is now yours."

Her eyes are blue copper; she is cut on that ghost of a blade.

"Take it away. I don't care… I – never wanted... I don't want it."

But she never asks.


	9. Octo

Burn

Winter has passed when she finally asks.

"Why – why must you…"

Her voice is an amalgam of pain and accusation, bitter, near unpalatable. He imbibes the sound merely because he cannot do otherwise. Because it is _her_ voice.

"I have no use for Tetsusaiga. Its bearer must be the one who awakened it."

The answer he gives is not what she wants, but it's the only one he can speak.

"That sword died…along with its owner."

_Fire_ grows and burns and rages under the sibilance of her hiss.

"Why didn't you bury it with him?"

_Because I want the _fire_._


	10. Novem

Erebus

He never leaves the village after he returns; he stays for the gasps, the perspiration and slick nightmares, the contraction of muscles, the way she thrashes every night. Agony. Delirium. _Too_ sweet. Her moans are fire in the flesh and inside he is burning – but perhaps that is summer-lust, visceral urge of baser parts – to be near if not inside. _Inside_. But that place is still pure, untouchable. For _him_. It is warm and dark when she screams his brother's name. _More_. She needs to writhe and taint herself.

And is that not why he has killed him?

_Yes_.

Yes.


	11. Decem

Human

"…is too young to be –"

It has been too long since she has talked in this manner, that he has forgotten she possesses such quality of elocution. Her voice whelms the space with hints of vivacity. She is a mélange of lusty consonants, airy vowels, and swollen lips.

His eyes trace the smooth angles of her face, the full curve of her mouth. Her skin is peach-soft, reflection of many springs…human skin. Wet flesh slithers as she speaks – he wants to sink his teeth there, lick and bite that tongue.

"Rin has come of age," is all he says.


	12. Undecim

Athanasia

Marriage ceremonies are nothing alike the mating rituals of his kind. He knows of possession, pulsation of primal instincts, blood heat and the welting of flesh. Ties that bind; marks that never fade. Amaranthine. Human devotion is but a waft of zephyrs – too vociferous in its inception, too soon to grow silent.

She stands beside him, lips nibbled and reddening. Her gaze follows the motions of his ward and Rin's chosen male. The slayer's brother, he recalls.

"It's too early for her…"

It is a whisper, low, for his ears alone.

His chin dips.

"It is her choice to make."


	13. Duodecim

Chronos

He is aware that she will come this night before the sound of quiet footsteps filters in his ears – he has made it so with his words. Time is meaningless for yōkai but not so for humans. They weigh the sands of time painstakingly, perhaps warily. Grain by grain. It is rather laughable, culpable oxymoron, that she languishes when she does not possess the gift of being languish. His fool of a brother is to blame for that, opening the path for such choices. Sesshōmaru should not have allowed for _his_ choice to become Inuyasha's vindication, to precipitate _her_ choice.


	14. Tredecim

Catharsis

Her eyes are ashes of the truth she only gasps in her grief-slicked sleep when she seeks his. She can only speak of it when the moon is high, slathered with the same hue.

"I knew he would not come back…when he left – I already knew." She licks her lips. "But I didn't know why you left…not until you returned – and he didn't."

_Something_ flashes in her eyes, spirals into her voice…pure silver metal, pure throat sound.

"If he hadn't left…if he had –"

It is a useless thing to ask – she already knows that answer.

"Nothing would have changed."


	15. Quattuordecim

Aletheia

Her eyes are fulgent edge.

"How could you…how _can_ you –"

Rawness on swollen carmine.

"He was your brother. You killed him."

She is spring aflame – he comes close, dangerously close, until no inch of skin is unlicked by that fire, unripped on that edge.

"Yes."

He sears the truth on the lips that speak it. Her shiver snakes inside his mouth.

"You only ever say what I want to hear. But that is never all… Even now that he is dead – you never…why won't you?"

_Fire_ sizzling beneath flesh and tongue – all there is, all there needs to be.


	16. Quindecim

Aeon

Her nails are raking his forearms under the sleeves of his kimono; her teeth are abrading her lower lip. Peels of skin welted and gleaming heat. She stares into his eyes, speaks even as his tongue sweeps over the bite marks.

"He was not your brother when you killed him."

One lap of tongue, languorous and rough-slicked. He stays quiet. It is not he who must say it first…and when she does –

"But that didn't matter…never mattered – only I."

He ravages her then – soft flesh bitten and sucked into his mouth.

"It has always been you."

_Honey. Fire_. _Woman_.

"Kagome."


	17. Sedecim

Venery

Her name thrums. It writhes inside his mouth, rolls off guttural and dipped in toxic resins. Rougher than the texture of his tongue, made slicker with hunger. Feral. He smears it on the flat of her tongue, nibbles the delicate tip, on the verge of tearing it off. It is a small part of her…and he wants it inside him.

Coagulation of voracity and intoxication. It is so easy…to melt flesh into lust and gorge himself on her. Delicious.

The muscles in his jaw clench, seethe with restriction; his teeth ache, gums swollen and bleeding.

To love is to devour.


	18. Septendecim

Beast

A shudder ripples through her body, slips past her lips wanton and full of moan.

_Please_.

But she doesn't know of what she is asking or if she does…she shouldn't, mustn't –

His nails are points of sharpness and her skin too fragile. If he is not careful...careful the fingers that brush and stroke – the slopes of her bones, the insides of her thighs, dips and crevices. Breasts swelling and filling his hands; nipples peaked and teasing his tongue.

But yōkai are not made for gentle touches. Instinct guzzles desire. Animal. Claws. Fangs.

He loves the scream more than the moan.


	19. Duodeviginti

Heat

She screams until her voice becomes an inferno – fire in her lungs, licking and melting the walls of her throat. His tongue is dragging up the arc of her neck, urging her to release the sound, brand him in the blaze of it, give him more, everything she is made of…and she does. Her teeth are biting the juncture of his neck and shoulder and she is swallowing that fire. It throbs deep inside her body, sinks low and coils around his erection as he surges and withdraws. Moisture and dripping heat and the stretch of flesh and soft tissue.


	20. Undeviginti

Taboo

She is gasping breaths and naked skin and perhaps…grieving. Her gaze trails over the expanse of his shoulders, lingers on the outline of her teeth above his collarbone. She reaches out for him but draws back before she can touch him; she is touching herself instead. Her fingers are gliding over her clavicle. Skin flushed and drenched in sweat, marked by the imprint of his tongue and the graze of canines. He watches as realization embeds itself in her eyes. Power no longer dwells inside.

_Human_.

_Woman_.

That is what he has made her to be. Nothing more, nothing less.


	21. Viginti

Price

"You knew…"

The words are shaking on her lips but she is not avoiding his eyes. He has known, yes. Loving a human always has a price for his kind. There must be a sacrifice. His father, his brother…they have perished for their love. And he has destroyed what he loves in his greed to possess it, devour it to its last drop.

Her lashes lower then; her neck slants to the side and away from his gaze.

"Do you still want me…now that I've become –"

His fingers are gripping her jaw; his eyes are eating her up.

"Mine."


End file.
